


Second Coming

by ShinyWurmple



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: AU, F/M, various oc's - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinyWurmple/pseuds/ShinyWurmple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something strange is going on in Castle Peak, and everyone dismisses it.<br/>One of our heroes discovers the place to be infested by vampires, and when the vampires continue to make more and more victims, Howard and Father Maxwell convince a few others to combat the undead, and reclaim their town. AU, (some OC's), based on Stephen King's Salem's Lot</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midnight, No Stars

**Second Coming** by Shiny Wurmple

Chapter 1: **Midnight, no stars**

* * *

 

Castle Peak Cemetery, September 21st, 11 PM

* * *

 

Most of Castle Peak was asleep by 11 PM, save for a few.

Howard Evans was one of them. He did a number of odd jobs around town, from mowing lawns to repairing old rusty fences, but mostly he was in charge of maintaining the town's cemetery.

During the summer, it was almost a full-time job, seeing as this was the time most old folks decided to croak. He was on his way to the cemetery in his pickup truck, which was loaded with clippers, a battery-driven hedge-trimmer, a crowbar for lifting gravestones that might have fallen over, a ten gallon gas can, and a lawn mower.

Despite his age, (he was nearing the big five, and sometimes every inch of his body ached after a hard day's labor,) he honestly liked his job.

After the war ended, he needed a change of scenery. A change of life. After a fair amount of travelling and sleeping at sleazy motels, Howard had come to Castle Peak on a whim, because it was a small town in the middle of Nowhere, USA, and still held the promise of a fresh start. Richie Moore, the town's only undertaker, had taken a chance on him, an old geezer with limited references-not mentioning his past employment as a mechanical engineer- and had given him a part-time job. And the rest was history.

The cemetery was on top of a small hill, and Howard turned in the drive, parked his truck, and got out. He loved working the night shift. When he was listening to his iPod, the work went a lot faster, and time just flew by. He was just about to walk up the hill, open the gate and start his doing his weekly maintenance tasks, when he heard the animated voices of some of the townsfolk. He could see them in front of the gate, standing together in a half circle. He immediately recognized the authoritative, almost lecturing voice to be Joe's, the owner of the Gas & Grocery. It sounded like they were discussing something along the lines of satanism.

Oh no. This better not be some kinda prank. Fucking Halloween was still two months away, and Howard was not in the mood for any of that bullcrap tonight.

"What's all the ruckus over here? Are y'all tryin' to wake the dead?" Howard stepped forward and the others moved away to make room for him.

"– well I'll be dipped in shit."

Joe, Sally, and a Chinese kid he didn't know were staring at the eviscerated corpses of four cats, hung head-down from the iron cemetery gate. The grass underneath was no longer green, but reddish brown with coagulated blood. The cats stomachs were sliced open, and hordes of flies, slow with the coldness of the night were crawling all over them. Strange patterns were drawn on the ground with the animals guts and blood. Howard didn't want to look at the symbols for too long. The smell was overpowering, and it took all of his willpower not to hurl right then and there.

Graveyard vandalism wasn't uncommon, especially around Halloween. Kids would kick over a few gravestones, or write a few obscenities. He'd never seen anything like this, though. If kids were responsible for this slaughter, then they were real bastards. (Although sacrifice was the word that kept popping back into his head, and he didn't like it one bit, just like he didn't like the symbols. They didn't feel right.) Howard took a moment to compose himself, and when he spoke again, his voice was steady, and his hands no longer trembled.

"Move along folks, nothing to see 'ere. Probably just a prank. Goddamn kids. I'll take care of everything. It's my job, after all."

Sally, the town's doctor told him to make sure he disposed of the cadavers properly, to prevent any form of contamination. She was a pretty little thing, but nobody likes a smart-ass, especially Howard. The Chinese kid said nothing. He was dumbstruck, and just kept staring until Sally gently pulled him away from the gruesome sight.

Joe thought he sure as shit never did stuff like that when he was a kid, but he kept that thought to himself. He just shrugged and decided to mind his own business. He hadn't had a drink in hours, and his throat was bone dry. Maybe Harry would be at the King's Shield. He was a good fellow, up for a talk most of the time – and that usually involved a free drink for Joe. When he made sure they were gone, Howard figured that he'd clean up now, and notify the town sheriff, Darren Craig, tomorrow, as soon as he woke up – not that he'd get a lot of sleep tonight. He had a cat of his own now, a moody ten year old mixed breed he considered his best – and sometimes his only friend. He couldn't imagine anyone doing this kind of fucked up shit to an animal.

No longer humming, he slowly walked back to the truck to get his work gloves.

This was going to be one hell of a long night.

* * *

 

 

Castle Peak, Castle Kingdom Catholic Church, September 22nd, 12 AM

* * *

 

_(Bless me father, for I have sinned.)_

Father Maxwell rested his forehead against the cool glass of the open window.

He was still an imposing man at fifty-five. His pepper-and-salt colored hair and beard were neatly trimmed, and framed his gentle round face perfectly. His mouth was still firm, although surrounded by little laugh wrinkles, and he always wore a smile, whether he meant it or not.

His kind, fatherly face and calm voice with the slightest Irish lilt made him a generally well-liked person around town, but then again, his counterpart Reverend Cullen was a raving lunatic. Father Maxwell had been at the Castle Kingdom Church for almost 2 years now, and although he had adjusted, even made friends, he still felt like a stranger sometimes.

There was something about the small rural town of Castle Peak that just wasn't right. He could almost feel it in the air, surrounding him, and he couldn't explain what it was exactly, not for the life of him. The oak grandfather clock, the only family heirloom he actually brought with him to the new parish, struck the twelfth hour. The haunting hour.

During his long, solitary evenings, or whenever he had a moment to himself, Father Maxwell went to his study and worked on his play. The idea for a play about the journeys of a clever 18th century priest had come five years ago, but he couldn't seem to finish it. What appeared to be such witty dialogue and clever lines at ten turned to utter garbage at midnight, and the night's work would be crumpled into a little ball and tossed into the wastebin, or right next to it, close enough. More often than not the night would end with a pen in one hand and a bottle in the other. Come to think of it, the drinking and the play started almost simultaneously.

' _Because let's be honest for a moment about the real reason why you got transferred here, instead of your old parish_.'

His inner voice spoke up again, and although he could be a bastard sometimes, he usually told the truth. In the beginning, there was whiskey, and Father Maxwell said: let there be a play.

His eyelids began to droop with exhaustion, and he yawned deeply. He made a mental note to himself to hide the rest of his bottle of Jack Daniels before Sister Helen found it again. The last time she had, the pitiful, knowing look in her eyes nearly broke his heart.

When he closed his eyes, he could see the darkness of the confessional booth. He thought about some of the confessions the townsfolk had made that day, and the many days before that. They honestly didn't differ that much from his old congregation at the L2 Colony. He heard most of the classics before, and he would probably hear them again.

_I swore, I lied, I cheated, I hit my wife, I had impure thoughts, and so on_.

Nothing very shocking, and although he occasionally felt the presence of evil in the confessional booth, it was a latent, mindless kind of evil that resided in the hearts of most common people. It was no stronger than the musty smell of the century-old wood. He had been a stronger man before, when he was still with his old church, with an unwavering faith in humanity and the Bible. Before the drinking became problematic. But now, he felt his words were empty.

It was as if they all had roles in a play, a play of a small Catholic town. They came in every Sunday, sat through his sermons, took communion, calmly confessed their sins, got their absolution, and walked out with a clean conscience and a big smile on their face, then just sinned all over again. Father Maxwell knew he was well on his way to losing his faith – if he hadn't already. He was very well aware that this may be his last chance to redeem himself, as a preacher, and as a person.

' _And what if that didn't happen?'_

His shoulders slumped, and he made his own sorrowful confession to the waxing moon outside.

I'm a drunk, and a lousy priest, Father. When he peered out of the window, he could see the old ruins of the castle stand out as the proverbial eyesore in the quiet rural town. As he clutched the crucifix around his neck tightly, he could almost swear he saw a light burn over there. The castle burnt down almost fifty years ago, but several sections of the large building had survived. They now stood alone on a hill, looming over the town and its inhabitants, like a harbinger of something sinister. Pulling away the curtains, a closer inspection revealed that yes, the lights were definitely on. May god have mercy on us all.


	2. Deals with the devil

**Chapter 2:**

**Deals with the devil**

* * *

 

Castle Peak, September 22nd, 7 AM

* * *

 

 

The people of Castle Peak were quick to wake – There were chores to be done, and some things couldn't wait. Doctor Sally was already making her rounds over at the Kingdom Hospital, Father Maxwell preached hope at the Castle Kingdom Catholic Church, Reverend Cullen preached hellfire at Christ the Redeemer, and the first coffees and breakfast sandwiches were being served at the King's Shield. At the crack of dawn, before the first sun rays had even begun to fully reach the small town, Howard was already waiting for sheriff Darren Craig on the steps of the municipal building.

He had taken several pictures of the (sacrificial) cadavers, had witnesses he could call if necessary (even though Joe was, admittedly, kind of a drunk, Sally's word would mean something). Howard was the kind of man who usually went with his gut feeling, and this time his gut told him there was more to last night's discovery than a bunch of teenagers acting out, and he hoped sheriff Craig would be willing to look into it further.

When Craig arrived almost twenty minutes later, Howard was still waiting for him. Craig noticed Howard had taken off his eternal sunglasses, and judging from the solemn look in his eyes, he was out of spirits. Sheriff Craig was out of spirits too – for some reason, he hadn't slept a wink last night, but nevertheless, he put on his best fake smile and approached the old man, thinking it was going to be one of those days where everyone needed something different.

Howard was looking gravely at his shoelaces, and hadn't even noticed him yet.

"Howard? You all right there?" Craig called. He had to raise his voice to be heard."Is there anything I can help you with?"

Seeing the town sheriff eased his mind considerably, Howard quickly got to his feet (with an audible pop of both knee joints), and held his pictures out to Craig.

"Sheriff Craig, do you have a minute? Something happened at the cemetery last night, and there's something I'd like you to see."

"Sure," he said, resigned. "I knew it was gonna be one of those days." Howard dismissed his comment and cut right to the chase, not only by giving the sheriff a detailed description about last night's gruesome discovery, but also by showing him the evidence.

* * *

 

Craig watched him go with a mild feeling of relief. Howard was a good guy, but he could be a bit much, especially this early on a Tuesday morning. Granted, the way the cats were killed was unusual for small town vandals, but not unheard of. Craig figured the culprits were just goth kids trying to scare folks, and it didn't even cross his mind to open an investigation over a bunch of dead cats.

He sighed, walked to the coffee machine, and then decided against it. The pictures of the dead cats had made him want to puke, and he didn't feel like having his usual morning coffee and bagel.

The zest had gone out of the day.

* * *

 

Castle Peak, September 22nd, 1 PM

* * *

 

Realtor Trant Clark was sitting in his office, sipping a cup of tea, and pretending to read a newspaper when the phone suddenly rang.

He had been expecting a call from his latest client, Randall Parker. He had a feeling Parker would call today, and Clark had been thinking about him and his silent business partner Smith all day, and the deal they made on the old antique store. He wondered why anyone would want to make that investment, especially in a small town like Castle Peak. He'd have to be lucky to stay financially afloat until summer, the tourist season, but money didn't appear to be a problem for Parker, and when he walked into the office 8 months ago he made Clark an offer he couldn't refuse.

He really had no reason to complain, after all, the money was rolling in, but he still couldn't help but wonder about Parker and Smith. There was something off about them, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Asides from their names and business information, he knew virtually nothing about them.

The last time they spoke Parker had said that he'd be in contact soon, but that was two weeks ago.

That was when the ringing phone broke his train of thought, and it made Clark jump a little. As expected, it was Randall Parker, his business partner. He spoke good English, but his voice had the slightest hint of a foreign accent – German? Scandinavian? Clark honestly didn't give a damn.

"So, Mr. Clark, I need a favor of you, if you'd please."

"Yeah?"

"As you know, we plan on opening our store tomorrow. I need you to send someone to pick up a few cases from the docks tonight and deliver them to the premises. I'm sure you know a few men, I doubt you'll need more than two. I need them to be there at 6 sharp."

A pause, and before Clark could say anything, Parker continued.

"A dozen boxes need to be picked up, all save one will go to the store. The other one will go to the castle, understand? It will be placed in the basement. I will also need locks to be placed on all doors."

"Got it."

Clark jotted all this down on a notepad as fast as he could. He didn't stop to consider the strange demands, nor did he question them.

"Very well Mr. Clark, thank you. Please follow my instructions. I will be in touch with you later."

"Wait just a minute, how…-" Clark still had questions, for instance what was in the crates that needed to be picked up, and why Parker was being so secretive about the entire situation.

But the line was already dead, and Clark knew better than to ask. Clark was the second person today to breathe a sigh of relief. Dealing with the unsettling mr. Parker always made him feel slightly uncomfortable. Fortunately, he knew just the men for the job. His hands trembled ever so slightly when he picked up the phone to make one last call.

* * *

 

Castle Peak, September 23rd, 3.15 AM

* * *

Lord Henry ('Harry') Khushrenada could not fall asleep, no matter what he tried. His sleeping problems had been mild to begin with, but had grown steadily worse over the course of time. As it turned out, almost everyone around him seemed to know of a folk remedy to cure his insomnia, and although they all seemed to contradict each other, he sadly had to admit he tried them all.

Their advice ranged from physical exertion to a nightcap (or two), which he occasionally indulged in at the King's Shield with Joe Keaton and Howard Evans. The only thing Harry concluded from his research on sleep disorders and numerous doctors visits was that no one knew exactly what sleep was, and how it worked, or what it did, but Harry figured it was probably just his age. The eldest of Treize Khushrenada's blood relatives was after all, almost 72 years old.

His eyes wandered to the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 3 AM. He was more fundamentally tired than he'd ever been in his life, but being tired and being sleepy were as he discovered, two entirely different things.

He was just about to leave his room to make himself a cup of tea when he heard a sound loud enough to pierce the unnatural silence of the house. It sounded like a scream, and he was quite certain it came from outside. He looked out of his bedroom window, and at first all Harry could see was the street, frosted in moonlight.

It wasn't until he put on his glasses that he could make out the shapes of two men struggling. The one being attacked was still a young man, to Harry he didn't look a day past 25, whereas the other had the looks and frame of a much older person.

At first sight, the attacker looked like any other middle aged guy clad in business attire, but Harry assumed there was more to him that meets the eye. He struck his victim with blinding speed. With a grin of triumph, long, sharp fangs gleaming in the moonlight, he turned to face Harry. He must have been aware he was being watched the entire time.

The man (vampire?) had unusual luminescent eyes, but strangely enough they weren't horrible to look at, looking into them felt a little bit like drowning, almost in a pleasant way. Harry felt drawn in by the creature's predatory gaze, and wanted nothing more than to keep staring into them. It took almost all of his willpower to avert his eyes. The vampire concentrated his gaze on Harry for a few more moments, before swiftly turning around to pin the young man down again. He knew the old man wasn't much of a threat, and he decided to deal with him another time. He was not about to let his prey escape him now, not when the hunger was this strong.

The anonymous young man was hurt and tired, and he looked utterly terrified. He was sitting on his knees, raising his hands as in supplication. His desperation was almost tangible. The vampire seemingly picked up on this, and without further hesitation, he delivered a final blow - and then sunk his fangs into his throat.

Harry's mind was racing, quickly going over every possible method to combat the unmentionable. The only religious objects he owned were family heirlooms, and he could run downstairs as fast as he could, get the Bible from the bookshelf and his mother's crucifix, but he found himself unable to move. His legs were frozen in place, and he was being forced to witness something so horrible, he could hardly believe it.

From outside, the begging and moaning had finally stopped, and had been replaced by an emotionless laughter - and then sucking sounds.

It was too late.

Harry drew the curtains and staggered back onto his bed. Lord Henry realized he should have done something, anything, but he was an old man, and he was scared. In the awful silence of his home, Harry buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting and straining to hear even the slightest noise, Harry wiped away his tears and picked up his cell phone from the nightstand. Something terrible happened, he had seen something(a vampire) and he needed to warn his great nephew as quickly as possible.

He hesitated to press the little green call icon next to his name. Treize would never believe him.

"He'd probably think I'm senile", Harry thought out loud. After all, he hardly believed it himself, and he just witnessed was one other person in the world he trusted deeply, and he knew she'd listen to him in a way his great nephew wouldn't. Or couldn't. It took his trembling fingers 5 tries, and almost ten minutes to punch in the number, but he got it right eventually.

Somewhere in a quiet motel on the west side of Castle Peak, a cell phone began to ring.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is somewhat of a filler chapter, but with most of the introductions out of the way, things will pick up in the next chapter and it should be more interesting. If you enjoyed, please leave a like or a comment, it really helps motivate me to update more frequently.  
> \- Shiny


End file.
